What Remains
by ItBeatsMe
Summary: Too many times had he stood before these nondescript brown coffins, the weather always reflecting off them like a taunt.


_Spoilers: Let's just say S3... I honestly have trouble telling anymore, lol.  
Summary: Too many times had he stood before these nondescript brown coffins, the weather always reflecting off them like a taunt.  
A/N: Thanks to Space for the beta. You always help me flesh these out and make them better!_

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Booth straightened his posture and performed the stiff-armed, measured salute of a former soldier paying respect. Too many times had he stood before these nondescript brown coffins, the weather always reflecting off them like a taunt. Today the sun was nearly blinding him, reminding him that his friend was at peace. It was something his grandmother had always said: sun at a funeral is God's message of a peaceful soul.  
_  
Aaron Daniels._

Booth and Aaron had met at Academy training and bonded over girlfriends too special and too far away. Their conversations grew, and they discovered they had a fair amount in common - both were Army veterans, both raised Catholic, and (for completely different reasons) both had sworn off gambling. And as it happened, they had learned of their impending fatherhood around the same time. The stark difference, though, was that Aaron was married by then and Booth was decidedly not. They rarely talked about how nervous they were about fatherhood - even though it was obvious - but they had formed a bond around their new personal roles. Though he often listened to Aaron's stories of late-night food runs and doctor appointments, Booth unfortunately had little to share. Sometimes they'd spend nights reclaiming their 'man time' at a sports bar, either watching sports - _he'd only watch football or hockey_ - or playing pool. Neither drank, Aaron because his wife could call at any time and Booth because he hoped Rebecca would call, but they'd always had a good time. Other times, Aaron and Shelley, his wife, would invite Booth over for dinner; he knew they felt sorry for him - after turning down his marriage proposal, Becca relied on him as little as possible.

He remembered how happy Aaron was after Morgan was born; his eyes shone with fatherly pride, just like Booth guessed his own eyes told of his beautiful little boy. They'd given each other cigars - _"It's the symbolism of it all, man!"_ - and swapped pictures. But while Aaron lived with his family and reveled in every stage of his daughter's development, Booth rarely had Parker for long periods. Aaron and Shelley were great about trying to include Booth as much as possible - _I saw Morgan those first few years more than Park._

_Morgan..._

Lowering his hand to his side, he looked over at his son. Dressed in a suit, Parker looked older; though innocence still radiated from his six-year-old frame, he seemed to know the gravity of his surroundings. He raised his small hand in salute, a gesture learned from the man to whom they were saying farewell. Booth remembered the day Parker learned the sign of respect; they'd had a barbecue, just the two families - _one family and a father and son_ - at a park in Virginia. Booth was grilling and when he looked over, he'd seen Aaron standing in front of both kids teaching them the correct way to raise their hands before slowly showing them himself.

Booth looked up at the coffin. In his mind's eye, Aaron was standing in front of Parker again, saluting him right back.

"Let's go, bub."

He dropped his hand to his son's shoulder, and Parker's hand slowly fell to his side. Stretching his arm around the boy and hugging him to his side, Booth led him to the SUV. The silence was heavy as father helped son into his booster seat. Booth took in his son's lowered head and slumped shoulders with a pang of realization. Parker's childhood innocence had been further chipped by this loss. He smoothed his boy's blond curls back and kissed his forehead, then gently shut the door before making his way to the other side of the car.

Once in the car Booth slouched against the seat, head back and eyes closed, and blew out a long breath. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw Parker's head leaning against the side of his booster seat, eyes closed and nearing sleep. The day had been exhausting; Booth had watched Parker and Morgan while her mom dealt with last minute funeral details. The three had sat on the grass in Morgan's backyard in silent support - Booth between the two kids, powerless to lift the very adult weight from their shoulders.

He drove through the quiet suburban neighborhood; it was late afternoon, and he imagined mothers or fathers cooking dinner and kids watching TV - _and fighting over the remote_. Some were out riding their bikes or sitting on porch steps with friends. While he freely admitted that this was the life - _future_ - he wanted, he liked where he was now. He loved his job and he had grown to like his - _their_ - team.

_And Bones._

He drove the rest of the way on auto-pilot, random thoughts filling his overtaxed mind. Pulling into the driveway behind Brent's red sedan, Booth cut the engine and wearily made his way around to the back passenger seat. Slowly opening the door, he smiled at his little boy; chin resting on his chest and hands lying limply in his lap. Booth kissed the top of his head and lingered for a beat, just happy at being able to have these moments.

After a beat, he unbuckled the seat-belt. "Wake up, Park. We're here."

Parker slowly lifted his head, obviously heavy with sleep, and rubbed his eyes. Booth skillfully lifted him out of the seat, settled his body on his hip and up onto his shoulder, and after closing the car door with a nudge of his opposite hip, moved slowly toward the front door. Booth knocked on the light blue door twice and waited comfortably, a soft smile appearing as Parker tried to burrow farther into his neck. As he paced on the small porch, Booth looked around the subdivision. While he hated not being able to see his son all the time, he had to admit that, had Rebecca married him, this was a calmness he couldn't give. Which wasn't to say he liked what had happened, but he knew that, at least for Parker, it had probably turned out to be the best arrangement.

_Come on, Rebecca..._

Shifting Parker to his other hip, he paced back to the door and had just raised his knuckles to knock again when the door opened. Rebecca let the door fall open and tiredly leaned her shoulder against the frame. He could tell by her rumpled jeans and sweatshirt that she'd been lounging with Brent.

"How was he?"

"Good. Shelley asked me to watch Morgan for a while this morning, so they kept each other company."

She nodded haltingly as he lifted and got a better grip on Parker. While he and Rebecca had been on better terms lately, he knew there was no love lost between her and the Daniels' family. He'd heard snippets of rumors about phone calls Shelley had made on his behalf, walking the line between his friend and his advocate. Rebecca never asked him about it, never asked him to do anything about it, and he figured she'd been warned against it. Shelley was never subtle about her opinions after Becca turned him down, always saying how stupid she was, and she became more incensed after finding out how little he was allowed to see his son. She'd always been careful not to say anything in front of Parker, but her eyes had spoken volumes.

Taking a few steps back, Booth leaned back against a post and watched as Rebecca crossed her arms and glanced back into the house.

"I, uh..." She glanced down, then met his eyes. "I talked to Shelley this morning. Told her I'd be happy to watch Morgan anytime, even overnight if she needed a night alone."

He knew how hard that had to be, both to make the call and to tell him, and he was grateful, and maybe a little proud. Shelley needed as much support as possible and knowing Rebecca had gotten past their differences reminded him what a good heart she had - _sometimes_. That had been one of the reasons he first fell in love with her; that, and the same independent streak that he now knew was a reason she pushed him away.

"Thank you."

He was trying desperately not to choke up, but he felt the tears in his eyes. So far, Parker hadn't seen him cry. He'd been sure to remind Parker and Morgan - _and Shelley_ - that it was okay, even good, to cry sometimes. It wasn't that he was ashamed or that his pride wouldn't let him; it was that he wanted to be with Temperance. Not Bones, not his genius friend-slash-partner, simply Temperance. The part of herself she claimed didn't do the right things - but in reality, she usually got it right. Shutting his eyes, he tried - and failed - to stop the tears from falling. But they fell, one on each cheek, leaving their own trails of sadness.

He felt Parker's weight being lifted and knew Rebecca had taken his baby boy from him again. Wiping the tears away, he placed a kiss on his son's head and turned to walk away. He was anxious to get to Bones' place, even though he knew it was the friend-slash-partner that waited for him. He'd take that over being alone - _over anything_ - any day of the week. His left thumb hooked itself over the pocket of his pants as he slowly walked to his car. His mind kept going round and round, seeing his job, Bones' job, and the people who, through their work, got their voices back. One word kept haunting his thoughts: remains.

Turning, he saw Parker's tired wave and Becca's friendly eyes. He waved again and near jogged around to the driver's side of the SUV. As he opened the door, he saw Rebecca going back in the house. Parker was again resting his head on her shoulder and Booth couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. No matter what his situation, good or bad, Aaron would never again see his wife and child and they would never see him - _not in this life_. Getting in the car, he closed the door and sat there; his eyes were open - wide open - as he looked around at the cookie cutter neighborhood and thought about Aaron. It was Aaron's day - a day to remember, celebrate, and mourn.

Booth leaned forward and started the car. Falling back against the seat with a sigh, he latched his seat-belt and backed out of the driveway. Once on the street, he glanced at the house one last time before switching gears and driving away. His mind returned to that word again - _remains_. It was a word used all the time for people who were dead, but he found that he couldn't stop wondering _why_. Bones worked with physical remains - _bones_ - but what about bodies that were intact? They were still called remains, which means that something - _the soul_ - has left and only the body, flesh and bone, remains.

_I bet Bones hates philosophy even more than psychology._

He chuckled to himself as he parked the car at Bones' apartment building. Stepping one foot out, he hesitated as the day suddenly hit him with the force of a freight train. With Parker back at Becca's, he finally felt able to focus on himself and the toll this was taking. The cool metal of the car door nudged his shoulder as he slumped and closed his eyes again.

His eyes snapped open upon hearing a car honking as it passed behind him. Shaking his head, he got the rest of the way out of the car, shut and locked the door, and jogged across the street. He made his way up the stairs, his restless mind craving the movement even as his even as his fatigued feet protested each painful step, and as he got near her apartment, he smelled it. Even after the melancholy of the day, the sweet scent of nutmeg brought a beaming smile to his face and he nearly jogged to her door. Leaning his shoulder on the jamb, he turned his wrist and rapped two knuckles against the door.

"Coming!"

Temperance wiped her hands on a plain blue dishcloth, set it back on the counter, and padded to the door. After glancing through the peephole, she opened the door to a slumped and rumpled Booth. His smile, though great to see, did nothing to belie the exhaustion that she saw in his posture. She opened the door wider in silent invitation.

"Mac and cheese, Bones?"

Though dimmed by his exhaustion, his eyes held some of their usual sparkle. He ambled past her and, as she shut the door, dropped onto the couch with a thud. Turning, she saw him slouching and letting his head fall back.

"Want a beer?"

"Nah." Crossing his arms and putting his black-socked feet on the coffee table, he continued with a teasing smile. "Wake me up when it's ready, will ya?"

"I may be cooking, Booth, but I refuse to fulfill the traditional role of a housewife while you do nothing."

"Aw, come on. You can be the little woman in the kitchen, I'll sit here after a hard day at the office."

"Did you go to the office after the funeral?"

Untangling his arms and moving to stand up, he shook his head. "That's not what I..."

Feeling the small smile tugging at her lips, she turned and walked to the kitchen. He gently caught her arm and - reflexively - her head turned.

"...meant."

His serious expression melted away and a bemused smile crept onto his features. After a beat, his hand fell away and he nudged past her and into the kitchen. Smiling, she followed him.

"What can I do to help?"

Taking a sip from her wine glass, she took the wooden spoon from the counter and stirred the food.

"Get your glass of milk and I'll bring the food in."

"I'm that predictable?"

She gave him an indulgent smile over her shoulder. Setting her glass down, she grabbed one of the two bowls and began to serve the food. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the wine glass leave the counter, and looked at Booth with surprise - he was holding it.

"You made me mac and cheese, do you really think I expect you to do all the work?"

His hip cocked to the side to rest against the cabinets.

"Of course not."

"Thank you, Temperance."

His emotion-heavy whisper was her first real clue into his day. She knew he had had Parker the night before and that they had both been at the funeral. His first time in three weeks to have his son overnight; he'd missed last week because of a case, and the week before that Rebecca and Brent had taken Parker to her mom's. Their rediscovered amiability meant that Rebecca had agreed to let Booth take him all of the following weekend.

Taking the bowls, she made her way to the table and set the bigger serving in front of Booth. He took a bit as she sat down and moaned in appreciation.

"As good as last time?"

The smile he beamed her was answer enough, but apparently not to him.

"Better."

She smiled and took a bite, nodding her head in agreement. They both picked at their food in comfortable - _at least, for me it is_ - silence. Starting to catalogue his gait and odd weight shifts, she came to the conclusion that his feet were bothering him.

_It's nice outside, so it must have an alternate cause..._

"Parker asked today if Aaron would be happy in heaven..."

"Booth - "

Closing his eyes, he sighed audibly. "Please, no making fun of my religion today." Opening his eyes, he studied her for a second before she saw his shoulders lose some tension.

"Did Aaron have your beliefs?"

His eyes flicked to hers, plainly looking for acquiescence. She gave it.

"He didn't go to church a lot, but yeah, he believed in heaven. I told Parker that he'd miss Aunt Shelley and Morgan, but that he'd be watching over them."

He looked at her warily, probably ready for her argument. Finally, she saw a small smile and his grateful acceptance. Both began eating again, though she'd catch him stealing glances at her. His frequency of bites picked up and he was soon done, while she was a bit slower. Leaning back, he smiled and put a hand on his stomach. She smiled at the typical male behavior. When she finished and her spoon clinked against her empty bowl, he stood up and took both bowls to the sink. Pushing herself up, she joined him.

He was already sudsing the water when she sidled up next to him. Without thinking it through, she rested her hip against his in an effort to surreptitiously give him more support. She wasn't ready for her reaction, though; she'd never consciously thought of him as more than a partner and friend, but she couldn't deny noticing - _on occasion_ - his sheer _maleness_. But she had to admit, if she'd seen this scene - standing side by side at the sink, hips touching - from an anthropological standpoint, she'd have concluded they were a couple.

Caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed he had turned the water off and was now facing her. His eyes were both soothing and intense as he studied her.

"Your feet hurt," she blurted unceremoniously. She wasn't usually rattled, but she had to admit his eyes had her off balance. His brow scrunched in confusion.

"How do you know?"

"Your gait has adapted to give you the least amount of pain, and when you're standing still you use your hip to compensate. I was merely trying to facilitate that, since I'm sure you won't leave the dishes for me."

Giving her an amused smile, he turned back to the sink and began washing a bowl. She made no move to return her hip to his, but after a few seconds he relaxed and shifted his hip to rest more of his weight on her. Smiling, she began washing the other bowl as he moved to their silverware. Flicking his fingers of excess water, he reached across her and stole her dish towel. Glancing at him and about to tease him, she noticed his far away look as he dried his hands. She finished washing her bowl and set it on the counter, more worried about him than setting the bowls on the dish drainer. Turning, she saw him standing still, dish towel still crumpled in his hands, that same far away look lingering.

"Booth?"

Snapped from his reverie, he looked at her and shook his head. She held her hand out, and he had to admit it took a minute to remember he was still holding the dish towel. Handing it to her, he left to get their drinks, but as soon as he got to the table, she was there with a conciliatory smile. He wondered how she got there so fast and, even more so, how he hadn't noticed. He'd been thinking about remains again, he admitted to himself. Remains, and the various meanings. Physical remains, how a presence can remain with someone, emotional remains...

Feeling her hand on his forearm, he blinked his eyes and focused on her concerned gaze. Giving her a small smile, he walked to the couch and, once again, slouched into it. Studying his glass, he searched for a way to ask the thing that had been on his mind all day.

"Why do we call bodies 'remains'?"

Looking over at her, he saw her take a breath to launch into one of her scientific lectures. Preemptively shaking his head, he searched for a better explanation.

"I know we work with remains, the remains of murder victims. But have you ever wondered why even unharmed bodies are considered remains?"

He felt the cushions depress and her leg rest against his.

"You know I hate psychology."

Booth rolled his eyes. "Soft science."

Bones leaned back into the couch. "Yes."

"But think about it. When it's just a body, what's taken away from it to make them remains?"

"Brain function."

He almost laughed at the confusion on her face but thought better of it. "That's it? You think only science keeps us from being a remainder?"

"You know I don't believe in souls, Booth."

He nodded heavily. He thought it might be too much to ask of her, but after his day of funerals and consoling loved ones he needed someone to console him. Wanting to laugh at himself, he closed his eyes in concession.

"Never mind."

Focused on his own breathing in an attempt to relax, he got lost in his philosophical contemplations. Souls existed, he knew it as surely as he knew God existed, and he hypothesized that that was how the word came about. When a soul leaves, a physical body remains.

"...shuts down, all that's left is the dead dermis."

"What?" He knew his voice sounded as wary as he felt. After catching the end of that sentence, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear to the beginning.

"Our bodies protect what is essential to life. Without it, we'd be much more vulnerable to the elements."

He nodded. He could get behind that, but still knew that a person wasn't whole without their soul.

"But we also need functioning central and autonomic systems, otherwise all that remains is a dead dermis layer."

They were both quiet, and he tried to think of a way to explain how he felt. One way came to mind, though he was loath to bring it up, and he knew it would be effective.

"Was that all I was when you thought I was dead?"

His quiet countenance hadn't prepared her for such a probing question; she met his gentle gaze with wide eyes, but despite his apparent ease with the subject, she had no desire to talk about... that. Anxiety churned her stomach.

A smile tugged at his lips.

"Evidence, Bones."

He apparently read her mind though, because he knew his response would get her attention. Sighing, she gazed down at her wine glass as she swirled the stem.

"I kept having irrational dreams. The setting was different, but in every one you protected me."

"I remained with you."

"You weren't dead, Booth!" She pinned him with a stare that she hoped conveyed her dislike of the topic. She didn't want to talk about that two weeks, and she _really_ didn't want to think about it. It was true she had long since accepted his innocence in the deception, but that didn't mean she accepted the ramifications. He reached across and gently caressed her cheek; her pulse rate slowed and some of her tension melted, leaving only her confusion and, if she were honest, emotional exhaustion.

"People, they remain with us. Whether you believe in souls or not, those indelible marks they make don't die."

Her eyes slid closed at the combination of his feather - light touches and the husky timbre of his voice. She leaned into his touch and thought back to his statement about breaking the laws of physics. She still doubted it could happen, but she suddenly wanted to try. He took his hand away and, feeling the cushions move, she assumed he was getting up to leave. In an instant though, she felt his breath on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she gazed into his intense black eyes and instinctively wet her lips. His gaze flicked to her mouth and she heard his breath coming in shorter gasps.

"This feeling," his rough voice began as his eyes probed hers again, "it never goes away."

His eyes slid closed and he slowly - _too slowly_ - leaned in and brushed his lips once, twice, against hers before deepening the kiss. Stunned and immobile with a kind of panic, she finally closed her eyes when his hand adoringly threaded through her hair. His tongue nudged her lips open and she couldn't help feeling as if she was falling. Their tongues sparred for control, and her panic at the situation amplified. She was enjoying his attentions, of that there was no doubt, but the longer they kissed, the more out of control she felt. Not wanting to replace the pleasure with control, she decided both would be sufficient. Roping her arms around his neck, she pushed him forward until her full body weight was above him. Their kisses became more urgent, faster, and she successfully gained control of the kiss.

His hands drifted to her face and exerted gentle pressure, taking back some - _but not all _- control as he slowed the kiss.

"Bones - "

She heard her mumbled nickname, felt it against her lips, but she paid no attention. This was too good, and her hormones were definitely making their presence known.

"Temperance..."

He said it with the same reverence he always reserved for her real name, but his tone and the slightly more demanding touch of his hands got her attention. The kiss fizzled to a stop; he rested his forehead on hers. Opening her eyes, the same intense black stared at her behind hooded lids. Caressing her cheeks with his thumbs, he gently kissed her nose.

She flooded with emotion as she realized what they were doing and where they were going. She was sure he saw the panic that came with those emotions; he wrapped his arms around her back just as she was about to pull away.

"Not letting you run this time, Temperance," he said softly.

"Let me up, Booth." She struggled and, not knowing whether to laugh with relief or cry at the loss, he let her go. She stood up and took their glasses to the kitchen.

Scrubbing his hand over his face and cursing himself, he decided it was best to give her some space. He padded into the kitchen and leaned his hip against the cabinets, staying as far away as he could – he thrust his hands in his pockets against the overwhelming need to touch her again.

"It's been a long day. I'm going to head home and relax."

Her shoulders tensed slightly but she didn't turn around, instead turning the water off and setting the glasses on the drainer. Sighing, he went back to the couch and slipped his dress shoes back on with a wince. They had always hurt his feet, and he had forgotten to put his spare sneakers in the SUV when he and Parker were rushing to get ready.

"I wondered why your feet hurt."

Startled, he looked up and gave her a small smile. Her smile was tentative, but he felt warmth spread through him at the realization that maybe he hadn't irreparably messed up. His shoes finally wrestled on, he gingerly walked to her. Standing in front of her, he didn't hide his appraising gaze. Settling on her mouth and feeling that same adrenaline he used to get at casinos, he gently leaned in and brushed his lips against hers one last time - _for tonight_.

"Thanks for dinner, Temperance."

She returned his soft smile with a dazzling one of her own, her eyes sparkling in the soft light. She didn't move as he walked to the door and, after glancing back at her with a beaming smile, he left. Using the elevator this time, he thought about his roller coaster of a day as he left her building. No matter what nicknames they used or how their relationship changed, they were still the same Booth and Bones.

_We remain_, he thought with a smile.


End file.
